


honest to God I'll break your heart (tear you to pieces and rip you apart)

by girlsarewolves



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dubious Consent Due To Identity Issues, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Constipation, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Graphic Description of Imagined Violence, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Men Crying, Mental Instability, Multi, Non-Graphic Smut, Rape By Deception, dark!fic, het smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 13:11:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13904706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlsarewolves/pseuds/girlsarewolves
Summary: Slade Wilson had a plan.Make Starling City his home. Set roots, let them grow, spread his reach out into everything - eyes and ears everywhere, so that when Oliver Queen finally returned to the land of the living, Starling was as much or more Slade's territory as it was Oliver's home. And then burn it to the ground.





	honest to God I'll break your heart (tear you to pieces and rip you apart)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheYearOfTheWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheYearOfTheWolf/gifts).



> For the prompt: "Slade/Laurel - Broken, as you clutch the sleeve of my jacket and beg me not to leave (ways you said "I love you")"
> 
> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:  
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> Trigger warnings: Please heed all of the warning tags - there is no "real" violence in this fic, but there are some bloody descriptions of fantasized murder, plus the dub!con/rape by deception content. And dub!con kissing between two other characters.

* * *

 

It wasn't supposed to end this way - her storming out the door and running far away, the kid left unpunished, him shutting out the taunting ghost that never let him rest.

 

* * *

 

Slade Wilson had a plan.  
  
Make Starling City his home. Set roots, let them grow, spread his reach out into everything - eyes and ears everywhere, so when Oliver Queen finally returned to the land of the living, Starling was as much or more Slade's territory as it was Oliver's home. And then burn it to the ground.  
  
Slade Wilson had a plan. But now it was the only thing going down in flames.  
  
He sought Laurel Lance out immediately upon arrival. Pretty, young thing - he saw the appeal much better in person than in some wrinkled and faded photograph Oliver kept high up on a pedestal. He wasn't sure if it was better or worse that she reminded him nothing of the conniving blonde he'd met on Lian Yu. No, when Slade looked at Laurel, he saw nothing of Sara. In a lot of ways, it made putting up with her - once he finally maneuvered his way into her life - much easier than expected.  
  
In every way it should have been a warning.  
  
Setting up connections and establishing contacts was easy enough - this was what he was good at, the seedy parts, the down and dirty grit. He wasn't as subtle as he used to be - and Billy would say it had never been his strong suit, but then Billy was dead, bones picked clean by scavengers - but he was intimidating. Enough to ensure silence.  
  
And Starling, oh, it was no Gotham but it was well on its way for a close second.  
  
It wasn't long before he had the funds he'd bluffed he was already in possession of, place secure among the underbelly of the city. There was the Triad and the mafia - very rarely the Bratva - but he left them alone for the most part. There did come a time when he had to make it clear to their lackeys that what numbers they had on their side didn't make a damn bit of difference if they couldn't keep him down. He had no quarrel with them, though, and he'd left enough impression that Chein Na Wei came to him, offering a truce and alliance if he was ever interested.  
  
Well, he came to Starling to build bridges before burning them, so naturally that was a yes.  
  
Then it was pick out the corrupt cops, the greedy politicians, the businessmen with too much inside knowledge, and Slade kept building his empire - all while Shado hovered at his side, just behind, whispering in his ear of how they would ruin it all once Oliver was home.  
  
Somewhere, deep down, he knew this was wrong. The kid didn't deserve this - and fuck, with the things they'd done and he'd entertained in his mind, should he still even call Oliver kid? - and Shado would never have wanted this - no this shadow was hungry, always hungry, for destruction and vengeance and all the things Shado never believed in no matter how much the island picked away at them.  
  
"Do you think he'll be happy to see you?" Shado asked one night, pressed against him though there was no extra weight dipping the bed when she moved. "Just a brief second of recognition and relief before he remembers what he did, understands why you're here?"  
  
Slade didn't answer, just let her kiss him, touch him like he'd wanted all for himself but never pressed for when it really mattered, when there would be body heat and hot breath on his skin - the Mirakuru elevated his average body temperature, but with her he only ever felt cold.  
  
After half a year establishing himself in Starling - as a new citizen, as a new player in town - he finally started moving the pieces to make himself a regular participant in Laurel Lance's life. He'd thought of worming his way into the Queens' lives, but opted instead to focus on Laurel - the wronged sister, the saint on the pedestal, the girl Oliver had broken and idolized all at once. Perhaps it was suspicion on his part, the murmurings of something big going on or the fear in Moira Queen's eyes whenever certain people were near her or her own. Perhaps it was the anger he saw in Laurel's eyes sometimes, the nagging question at the back of his mind of how she dealt with the betrayal and the loss coming out all at once.  
  
He never meant to get so damn close - so fucking tangled up in her.

 

* * *

 

It started with donations.  
  
He was interested in her place of employment - CNRI, and everything it stood for. Everything she stood for. He believed in justice, equality, helping the underdogs, in making sure those who normally got away with everything finally had to face some consequences. That was a cause he could get behind.  
  
Then it was coffee.  
  
He stopped by once a month with coffee and breakfast for everyone, just out of the goodness of his heart. The gesture charmed Laurel's adorable friend - Jo, Joanna, he caught once or twice - but Laurel remained skeptical.  
  
Though she never turned down the coffee at least. And her face scrunched up adorably when he drank his straight black coffee in front of her, while she had to have at least two sugars and three creams.  After a couple of months she finally accepted a bagel. "One bagel," she told him firmly. She snuck a cream cheese when she thought he wasn't looking anymore.  
  
Then it was brush-ins out and about the city.  
  
Passing by at the hotdog stand. Catching up at the one local book shop that hadn't gone under. Briefly glimpsing each other across the street. Chatting together while waiting at the stop sign. Spaced out enough that it didn't seem too coincidental, didn't set off too many alarm bells.  
  
Laurel was always guarded - it wasn't just the hurt, he saw the cop's kid reflexes in her, something more evident than he'd noticed with Sara, but then he hadn't been in his right mind any of his time around Sara, had he? With her he had to take things cautiously, more than with any other part of the plan.  
  
It was only after a chat while waiting on their orders at the cafe - he promised he was just there for himself, he wasn't on his way to harass her and her coworkers at their job again - when the guard started to lower. "So, I never thanked you for the help you've provided us at CNRI. And I might have been a little rude a few times. But the donations and the occasional breakfast, they help. A lot. So thank you."  
  
"Any time, Miss Lance." He kept the satisfaction out of his tone, off his face, but he knew his Shado was grinning.

 

* * *

 

Then it was lunch.  
  
"Just a casual date between acquaintances," he offered. "I must confess, Miss Lance, that while I have invested in many causes and good ideas here in Starling, I still don't have many roots set when it comes to friends."  
  
She'd looked at him with the dry expression of a woman who knows damn well _friendship_ wasn't what a man his age was after from someone that much younger - but Joanna was watching, they both knew, and Laurel and Tommy had recently quarreled, not that Laurel knew they both were in on that fact. So she'd pursed her lips and then grabbed her bag. "Sure. Why not? I could use a break."  
  
He didn't bother to hide the fact that he found her attractive - Laurel had a pretty good bullshit meter, was easily put on the defense, and the truth was, he didn't really want to. If he looked back on that, it should have been one hell of a red flag, but he couldn't remember the last time he was in his right mind. He didn't push the matter either, made himself content with a luncheon with no strings attached, no promise of a follow up, but as he knew her strengths, Slade had worked hard to learn Laurel's weaknesses.  
  
And poor miss Lance was lonely. Hook ups with Tommy Merlyn and perhaps too much dedication to her work were a good indication, but it was the subtler things that let Slade know how deep her loneliness ran.  
  
The quick way she fell back on her sharp tongue whenever someone got too close, the regret that followed after in her eyes. The way her shoulders slumped ever so slightly when she and Joanna parted after an outing. How she kept almost trusting her heart with Merlyn only to push him away when things got too personal, too emotional, instead of physical. The way she could stare at old photographs for too long, only to turn them away from her sight.  
  
He'd kept a close eye on Laurel.  
  
The shadow kept reminding him not to get too close. Shado sounded almost concerned.  
  
So Slade didn't push too hard, too far, too fast. He told himself he had become a much more patient man since the Mirakuru, since the months it took to get back to land had forced him to learn a little more. That was why it was so easy to take his time with her.  
  
The shadow was concerned.  
  
The week after the first luncheon, they went out for another two. Just lunch, just talking, just getting to know each other - as if he didn't already know everything about her, as if she would ever know the real him. But by week four, he started slipping, started to see he hadn't learned everything about her yet - started to let little slivers of who _he_ really was slide through the cracks.  
  
Her anger was a thing of beauty, he was discovering. The more time they spent with each other, the more Slade started to think that Laurel was living a charade much like him - even with herself. Pretend she wasn't so angry at ghosts that it kept her from moving on, tell herself she didn't miss them because she was so angry, how could she want them back. Laurel was _raw_ \- her grief and anger a festering wound that mirrored his own.  
  
Shado was getting impatient.  
  
"Don't put her on a pedestal like he did," she reminded him.  
  
Slade looked at her, standing beside his desk, looking out of place in her dirty island clothes. It didn't make sense, how he could see her, hear her, feel her - but he couldn't feel any warmth, couldn't ever catch her scent. He knew those clothes smelled of sweat and grime and salt water, moss and woods and body odor, but he would have given anything to have her there, tease her that she needed a proper shower now that they were home.  
  
"This isn't our home, Slade," she told him. "It's his. It's hers. Are we still going to destroy it? You promised."  
  
"Of course," he reassured her. In the back of his mind, what sanity he had that hadn't been stripped away by the Mirakuru told him Shado would never find that reassuring.  The parts of him that still cared about the kid felt sick. But he just smiled as she leaned over, delicate hands on his face as she gave him the chastest of kisses, the hollowness of the act kicking up his hate.  
  
He asked Laurel out for a proper date that night.  
  
Alone in her apartment, having sent Merlyn on his way after a round, and - as far as she was aware - nobody watching, she bit her lip before answering, cautiously, "Okay. Yes. I'd love to."

 

* * *

 

Finally it moved to nights out - at the movies, at Big Belly Burger, at fancy restaurants, at the park where she would come when everything was too heavy.  
  
"I've been sleeping with my dead boyfriend's - ex," she quickly corrected, expression bitter, "Ex boyfriend's best friend. I mean we were all friends, the three of us, for a long time," Laurel confessed on one of those nights when they were sitting on a park bench, watching the reflected colors of the sky darken on the pond. Litter cluttered what should have been a lovely, safe place for all citizens of Starling City, clusters of wrappers and empty cups around the overflowing trash cans. Laurel came there often, sometimes cleaning up what she could, but that night she didn't seem to notice. "At first it was the shared grief, the need for comfort, then it was...I guess I wanted to be with someone I knew. Someone who knew me, who knew Oliver, who knew Sara and how much losing them and finding out what they had been doing hurt me. And maybe," she stopped there, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, like she wasn't quite ready to say what was coming. "Jo told me it's because he reminds me of Oliver - not just because we were all close, but he is what Oliver was. And that's why we can't ever get serious, and that's why I keep letting him back in. But I'm tired of being stuck in this limbo." She turned toward him then, meeting his gaze, and it was the most open she'd ever been.  
  
It was uncomfortable, that gaze. He almost fidgeted, almost looked away in shame, while his shadow held him there, told him that this was what they wanted. All he could do was let Shado keep him pinned there, watching her, while Laurel went on.  
  
"I'm telling you so there's no miscommunication, so it's all out in the open. But, since we started dating, officially, I haven't been with him. And I would like to keep it that way." She slowly moved her hand to his on the bench in the space between them, fingers warm and heavier than he was expecting - heavy with realness, with life - and she gently squeezed. "You've given me something besides my work and girls' nights with Jo to look forward to. Thank you."  
  
Slade squeezed back. "I know what it's like, trying to pull yourself out of Purgatory."

 

* * *

 

After that it was him in her bed instead of Oliver Queen's ghost, instead of Tommy Merlyn.  
  
He told himself this was what he wanted - Shado reminded him this was all part of the plan as he followed Laurel into her apartment. He had thought it might take longer to get here, he had hoped maybe it would be after a sign that Oliver was alive, might return home soon - because oh, he couldn't deny there was a sweet satisfaction to the thought of telling the kid how much he'd enjoyed fucking his precious Laurel.  
  
But when her lips were on his - warm and soft and moist and then there was tongue and damp breaths against his skin, anywhere he touched her he could practically feel her vibrating with life - it sunk in what was happening.  
  
This wasn't right.  
  
Slade had told himself there was some lines he would never cross. That nagging voice in the back of his mind, that sounded so much like his shadow - like the real Shado that the hallucinations don't want him to clearly remember - reminded him he'd been crossing those lines ever since she'd died. Ever since being infected with that damn serum, that damn miracle formula. He'd sworn years and years ago, to himself, to Adeline, that he had boundaries, some morals he wouldn't compromise.  
  
_Fuck_ , Adeline probably still thought he was dead. They might have been heading for divorce before the island, but he was still a married man. He had a son. Did Joe think he was dead too?  
  
Laurel was against the wall - he couldn't remember pinning her there, but he almost felt like he was no longer in control of his own body, just a slave to this madness that he had succumbed to - and Shado was touching his shoulder while he sucked at the skin above Laurel's pulse, rapid and real. She'd wrapped her legs around his hips, hands were tugging at his shirt, and all thoughts of home and family and the man he used to be - the man who had died on that God-forsaken island - went out the window.  
  
He didn't think about how if she knew he'd been with her Ollie she might not want this. He didn't think about how if she knew he'd gladly caused her sister's death she'd probably sooner stab him than let him kneel down, her bare legs hooked over his shoulders while he pressed his mouth to her slick cunt. He didn't let himself think about the fact that if she knew what he wanted, she'd never stop coming after him until she'd found a way to stop him - or she was dead.  
  
That was the plan, after all, wasn't it? Win her affections, fuck her, taste her, learn her inside and out the way Oliver had, and throw that back in his face when he came home - because he would, because Slade refused to believe the ocean had taken Oliver, that kid was too damn stubborn - and then kill her. Kill them all, every single person he'd ever loved.  
  
She tried to return the favor when they'd finally stumbled their way into her bedroom, her legs wobbly after two orgasms from his tongue and fingers, but he'd pulled her up, pinned her beneath him. Something about the sight of her down there made his gut _twist_ in a way that was not arousal - something more akin to shame, a feeling the Mirakuru had all but burned out of him until recently.  
  
It faded to the back of his mind when he slid into her, the sensation wrenching a groan of satisfaction from both of them. Her arms went around his shoulders, legs back around his hips, and he found the crook of her neck the perfect place to give her attention and hide away, like some pitiful teenager who was afraid he was doing something wrong.  
  
It _was_ wrong.  
  
"Slade," Laurel gasped, and _fuck_ , it'd been so long since someone had said his name like that, sometime back on the island, he didn't want to remember, so he'd kissed her every time she started to talk.  
  
It wasn't until a couple of hours later, after a few rounds had left him surprisingly sated despite the heightened stamina, and she was resting against him with her head on his shoulder when he didn't try to stop her from speaking again.  
  
"That was amazing."  
  
"Couldn't have put it better." And it had been. Slade felt sick. He closed his eyes, tried to picture slitting her throat in front of Oliver, a mental image he'd conjured up too often to fuel a perverted need and had given him too much satisfaction to be justified. But now it left him cold, nauseous. He looked down at her and tried so damn hard to see her sister, the wide-eyed blonde who'd ruined everything, who Oliver had chosen over Shado - over him, over them, over the trauma-born bonds they'd formed. All he saw was Laurel.  
  
"You're putting her on a pedestal," his shadow whispered from his other side.  "You're just like _him_ and his stupid photo."  
  
Maybe Slade understood now why Oliver kept the damn thing. Maybe Slade understood less why the kid had been so damn destructive. He sure as hell had never gotten the appeal of Sara, but then even in his current state he had to admit he was biased. Even before he'd fallen for Laurel - and fuck it, that's what was happening, wasn't it? He'd told himself this was business, vengeance, making good on a promise, but somewhere along the line seeking Laurel out was because he wanted her company, not because he wanted to hurt Oliver.  
  
Somewhere along the line, he'd glimpsed something in her that reminded him of Shado - of the real Shado, the one he knew, deep down, would never want this. Maybe it was her softness despite her defenses, her belief in the good in the world despite the world doing plenty to fuck her over. Maybe it was how different she was from him despite their similarities, despite how the same people had hurt them, destroyed their lives in selfish, _selfish_ ways.  
  
He told himself to end things. Shado told him to. Shado, Shado, his shadow, always there when he needed his head cleared - but he felt trapped in a fog even while she whispered to him, while Laurel slept with his chest as her pillow. He had to end things. They had a promise to see through.  
  
"You promised Oliver he would pay for what he did to me. To us. After everything, he turned his back on us, lied to us. Remember that."  
  
"How can I forget?" he whispered, his mind full of visions of Shado in his arms, her blood on his face. He'd wanted Oliver to experience that - to hold Laurel in his arms, feel her warm blood on his skin, know that she'd never be warm or happy or sad or alive ever again, just a ghost in his head for however long he had left before Slade put him out of their misery.  
  
Laurel stirred in his arms, sighing in her sleep, and then settled again.  
  
Slade felt sick.

 

* * *

 

He cooked them breakfast in the morning, told her if she needed some space, if she wanted to slow things down, he understood. He told her the night before was amazing - the best he'd had in years. It was the most honest thing he'd said to her. He looked at her when he said it, not the vengeful ghost hovering behind her, glaring, telling him this wasn't the plan. He half hoped, through the angry, restless haze he seemed trapped in, she'd say yes, say she needed time.  
  
Laurel tilted her head, those walls ready to go back up - and Slade should have hurt her then, should have treated her like some conquest, which was all she was damn it, all she was supposed to be - and asked, "Did I rush you?"  
  
Oliver. He knew that question was because of Oliver. In that moment he didn't hate Oliver because of himself or Shado.  
  
"Not at all."  
  
She smiled then, relief in her eyes. "Good. Then, no, if you're good, I'm good. I'm, great even. For the first time in a long time."  
  
_Fuck_.  
  
Shado was smiling too.  
  
"I just wasn't sure, after everything, if you wanted to slow back down. Obviously there was a lot of emotion last night, and it was one hell of a night. But I didn't want you to feel I was expecting anything." He wondered if she would want to go public with the relationship - would she start telling Joanna about them? Would she be openly affectionate in front of others? Would her cop father shoot him for being not even five years younger than him and not having even known her a year yet? He wondered if ripping her heart apart would hurt as much as killing her would.  
  
"I appreciate your consideration, Slade. Thank you. But, last night, everything I said...I'm ready to move on. Start a new chapter in my life, one not so clouded up with connections to Oliver."  
  
Shado was grinning wide, baring teeth. She didn't look like Shado at all anymore.

 

* * *

 

Slade Wilson's plan was imploding.  
  
He was going soft. No, that wasn't right - he was going too far. Killing was one thing. Using people, to an extent, was nothing that would keep him up at night. But this? His hatred burned hot, betrayal after betrayal stripping away his soul piece by piece until he'd gotten that wretched miracle drug. When it brought him back, it brought him back completely soulless, that had to be it.  
  
"Just like Oliver and his picture. He claimed he loved her? Then why hurt her? He claimed he loved me, and look what he did? He only ever cared about himself. Just like your old partner. Billy sold you out the moment a better offer came along," she whispered, her weightless hands all over him, her lips empty air on his, he was holding onto her but he knew there was nothing - he _knew_ there was nobody else in the room, damn it! She was smiling at him when she pulled away.  
  
For the longest time those words had kept him focused, kept him driven. But this time he felt memories coming back to him, the times Oliver risked his life for him, the way Oliver tried to convince him that bonds weren't a weakness, the way he looked at Shado like she was every bit as awe-inspiring as the Laurel in the photograph. He remembered - Oliver's problem was he was too bloody soft and impulsive, he was a rich, spoiled jerk but he loved them.  
  
_He'd loved them_.  
  
Slade felt sick.  
  
"Oliver loved Laurel, too. Look at her, look at what he did to her. Does that really seem like love to you?"  
  
"Does this?" he heard himself whisper back, choking on the words and the effort it took to get them out. He could feel hot tears leaving wet tracks down his face - Shado was a blur in front of him. He wanted it to end, but that was no longer an option. Was it tears or blood on his face? He could see Shado lying there on the ground, heard Ivo explaining what really happened.  
  
"Oliver made his choice," Shado said coldly. "And you made a promise."

 

* * *

 

Slade Wilson came to Starling City with a plan.  
  
He couldn't for the life of him remember how it felt to be dedicated to it, driven to see it to completion. He was going through the motions now, keeping up his contacts in the underworld while doing good deeds in the light of day - and doing things that he knew, he knew in his very bones, was too far over the line at night, in Laurel Lance's bed and in his, in the shower, on a kitchen table once, against the wall at least twice.  
  
He hated it, hated how much he loved it. Hated the way she smiled at him, the sound of her laughter, all the little things he was supposed to steal from Oliver for good. Hated the thought that Oliver might not return home for reasons other than making him suffer. Hated the thought of his wife and son, out there wondering where he was, if he was ever coming home.  
  
Slade told himself that Adeline would never take the man he'd become back. Would never want him near Joe. He reminded himself that they were heading towards estrangement before he'd taken the Lian Yu mission, that he'd taken it because of that, because they needed space.  
  
Billy had told him it'd be good for them both. But then Billy had tried to kill him. Billy'd be laughing at him now.  
  
Laurel was laughing at something on the television, and he thought about telling her he was there when Sara went screaming back into the ocean.  
  
Laurel was sipping her coffee and making that adorable face as he sipped his, and he thought about telling her that Oliver was the one who took his eye and why.  
  
Laurel was stripping slowly out of her clothes as he sat on his bed, hard and hungry and thinking about telling her that he used to fantasize about cutting her open in front of a man they both loved and hated.  
  
Laurel was going over papers in the middle of the night relating to her current case, pen in mouth and brow furrowed, and he thought about telling her all his connections to the seedy people she was trying to take down.  
  
Laurel was sleeping beside him, and he thought about telling her everything, confessing every rotten sin, and telling her he loved her - loved her as much or more than a kid who'd wormed his way into Slade's bitter heart and as much or more than the woman who was never even his so he'd tried not to love her at all.  
  
The Mirakuru was not meant for love - it was meant for hate, for destruction, for making a man able to take anything that came at him and still tearing through everything in his path. It burned through his veins and twisted all his thoughts, and he knew that - he'd always known that - but now the hallucinations it brought to try and keep him clouded and focused only on vengeance weren't as successful.  
  
His shadow wasn't as convincing as she used to be.  
  
He thought about leaving. Just disappearing, going back home and checking in on his family, letting them know he was alive but he knew he couldn't be near them - of course he hadn't gone to see them, he was a fucking _wreck_ , some twisted shell of who he'd been before the island, an already fucked up human being with too few morals to be playing family man. "Running away like a coward?" his shadow taunted, but at the moment that sounded appealing. There would be no way to trace him, and Laurel would hurt, she'd question why, she'd look into it, and then she would move on. He knew that Merlyn kid would be there for her, saw the sad pining in the rich whelp's eyes.  
  
Not that he was in any place to judge.  
  
Who wouldn't fall for Dinah Laurel Lance? Too noble for her own good, sometimes judgmental and prone to tunnel-vision focus, easily wrapped up in her work, dedicated to a fault to the people she was helping. She had a smile that lit up a room, tried to see the good in the world, believed the system could be fixed, and loved rocky road ice cream too much for his tastes, even though he kept stocking her freezer for her. She did try to give mint chocolate chip a chance, and he couldn't deny how cute it was when she made herself swallow what she later admitted tasted to her like swallowing a mouthful of frozen store brand toothpaste.  She had her blind spots and her moments of hypocrisy, but she stretched herself so thin to be there for everyone, and Slade had counted on that, had taken advantage of that.  
  
He'd scorned her inwardly for it. For a lot of things. He'd thought this would be easy. He'd thought he no longer could care about anyone else, not again, not after Lian Yu.  
  
"What about me, Slade?" Shado asked, her voice loud, louder than it had been in years. "You care about me, don't you? When there is nobody left to care about me anymore - all I have is you. Are you going to forget about me? Let me stay buried unavenged?"  
  
" _No!_ " He stood up from the table as he shouted, papers scattering, plans falling apart. "But it's been almost two years now since we got here, and no sign of the kid, and if he's dead, then he's paid for his sins! There's no, there's no point anymore! And I can't...I can't keep doing this." He could settle there in Starling for good. He could keep his rage in check now, couldn't he? He could focus.  
  
"So what, you live happily ever after with Laurel? Do you think you deserve that? After leaving me with Oliver and Sara and nobody who could or would protect me?"  
  
Slade sunk back down into the chair, head in his hands. "No." He felt her warm blood on his face - or was it his own tears again? "But you're gone, Shado. And Laurel doesn't - she's like you. She'd good. Not like Oliver. Not like Sara. She doesn't deserve this." He'd tried. Wasn't that enough?  
  
"If she's so good, then she deserves the truth. It's what she would want," Shado taunted him, voice soft again, almost gentle, her mouth by his ear though no breath hit his skin. "Tell her everything if you love her. See how well that goes. Tell her about me, about the island, about the things you and Oliver and I did sometimes in the dark, when we had to stop pretending for a little while we didn't want each other."  
  
"Stop."  
  
"Tell her about what you did to him on the ship, what you put him and her sister through, that you're the reason they might never come back. That you enjoyed it. Tell her what you were going to do to her, that you were just supposed to fuck her and leave her and when Oliver came back, you were going to kill her in front of him. That it brought you satisfaction, brought you pleasure, the thought of slitting her throat while he watched, helpless, while her blood soaked the pavement."  
  
" _Stop!_ "  
  
"No! You promised me justice, Slade! You promised Oliver suffering! He hasn't suffered enough! Not until he's lost everything, just like me, just like you!"  
  
"He's dead! _Oliver Queen is at the bottom of the ocean!_ "  
  
Shado only shook her head, smiling, like she had a secret. The television was on, muted, but he'd glimpsed the screen briefly, and now her fingers were directing his gaze, making him take the headline in.  
  
'Lost billionaire found.'  
  
Slade felt _sick_.

 

* * *

 

He went to Laurel's that afternoon, full of awful, ugly noble intentions. He meant to tell her the moment she opened the door - "Don't let me in, don't seek me out, don't be near me," he was going to say - but her eyes were red and puffy and she was grabbing him, pulling him in the apartment, pulling him to her, and he could have stood his ground, she was no match for him, she couldn't move him unless he let her. He let her. He let her kiss him, let her beg him to stay, to fuck her, let her say she was _sorry_ she was a mess.  
  
"I'm sorry, please, don't take this the wrong way," she actually said, as if anyone could blame her for taking the news hard, taking it any way that wasn't indifference or apathy.  
  
"Tell her now," Shado laughed at him.  
  
"I thought I was okay, but when I got home, I just, fell apart," Laurel confessed, holding onto him.  
  
"She's probably been fighting off the tears, telling herself she won't cry over Oliver Queen anymore. So give her someone else to cry over." Shado was circling them, eyes hungry like a shark's. "Tell her. Or are you going to give her what she wants? Fuck her again, and then deliver on your promise? Cut her open in front of him for me, for what he did to us?"  
  
Slade shut her out and clutched Laurel to him, pressing her up against the wall. He fucked her there, harder than before, than he meant to, but she just held on and begged him not to stop, told him she needed him, told him how good it felt. He didn't say a damn word, just buried his face in the crook of her neck where he could kiss and bite and suckle and hide his face from hers.  
  
"Don't stop, Slade," she begged, her hands gripping at his jacket, bunching it up in her fists. She was already so close, frantic and desperate, his left hand moving between their bodies so his thumb could brush over her clit to help her along. He didn't stop until she climaxed, his name on her lips - not Oliver's, not Merlyn's, but _his_ God-forsaken name.  
  
He shuddered, pretending to fall over with her, the need and the want there but shame twisted up his insides, overriding the lust. He kissed her while she was still in her afterglow daze, pulling out and straightening up his clothes. He savored every sigh, every moan, committing them to memory. He couldn't tell her there, though, not where she was easily found by Oliver if he wanted to seek her out to make amends this early on. "Come on," he whispered after a little longer for the haze to clear, helping her get dressed again. "Let's go to my place, have take out. I'll treat."  
  
She smiled at him, looking a little less haunted. "Sounds great."

 

* * *

 

All the warnings and red flags had passed him by.  
  
Shado, his shadow, hadn't even noticed until it was too late.  
  
Laurel Lance was nothing like her sister or her photograph. It should have made him more cautious, more guarded, but he'd blindly rushed in thinking he was being a careful, clever, patient man who couldn't get attached.  
  
Slade had come to Starling City with a plan, one that Laurel Lance had torn into pieces and set on fire, and now there he was, whispering out a strangled, "Because I love you," for the first time since he'd met her, all his sins confessed and laid bare, head hanging low in shame - that awful, wretched shame he thought the Mirakuru freed him from - while Laurel stood there fighting back angry tears, demanding _why_ he was telling her this.  
  
"I came here because I hated Oliver Queen, because I needed to make him suffer. And I'm telling you this now because I can't. I can't hate him the way I need to, used to, all-encompassing and blinding. I...I see her. Everywhere, all the time. She's a ghost in my head, some kind of side effect of this damn miracle serum they pumped in me, and I'm not magically sane because I care about you, I still see her. Still want to rip people apart, still think about killing you or his little sister Thea, or maybe his mother first, so he can suffer through seeing Thea become an orphan too." He was shaking, sweating, twitching with the need to hurt because the hate was flaring, converging with the guilt forming knots in his belly. "But I've crossed lines that, even in this state, I know I've gone too far. I know I," he stopped, choking on the word, but forced himself to utter, "Raped you. By deceit, but it was that act all the same."  
  
She flinched at that word, looked away. The silence hung between them, and for a brief moment he wondered if she might argue the point, if she might buck that word away because it was too much to accept. But she only swallowed and stared at the door. She should have run then, run away from him like her life depended on it - though at that point he knew he wouldn't hurt her.  
  
"I wanted to be here when he returned, wanted to claim everything that had once been his, just to hurt him. I wish I could blame it all on the Mirakuru, but even through this constant fog, I know so much of it is my own guilt and my own spitefulness. But like my strength and stamina, it's been ramped up to 500%, and the mental is so much harder to control, to get a hang of."  
  
"I let you in," she whispered. "I let you into my life despite all the warning bells in my head. I was so foolish."  
  
"I learned how to get past them. I was a hunter, Laurel. All of the blame lies on me."  
  
She turned back to him then, eyes angry and cold and heavy with hurt and hate. " _Go to hell_ ," she spat at him, like he deserved, and she went for the door finally, having given him more time than he had any right to - but still he reached for her, still he almost begged her to hit him, just so he could feel her skin on his one more time. She yanked at his grip, all but screaming, " _Let me go_!" so he did. She ran, like she should have from the very beginning, like he should have told her too the moment he met her.  
  
His Shado was sneering at him as Laurel ran past, the sight wrong, unnatural - had he ever seen her look that way before?  
  
Slade just stared at the ground, closed his eyes as it all fell apart.  
  
Slade Wilson had had a plan before. Now he had nothing.

 

* * *

 

It was a couple of days before Oliver showed up, the lights going out signalling his arrival before he entered the living room of Slade's apartment, wearing a ridiculous green outfit and a hood that nearly sent Slade into that blind fury he'd almost lost the past two years. As soon as the kid was back in his sights, an arrow aimed at his head like it would do anything, that hood on his head, he knew this was the problem - it'd been too long since he was near the source of his grief, his rage, a target that he could hate.  
  
Shado stood behind the kid, smirking at him, telling him to just end Oliver then and there and leave if that might be an easier pill to swallow than the original plan.  
  
"Hello, Kid," he greeted, but even that lacked the venom he wanted. He felt it, felt that feverish hatred, saw nothing but red - dark red, almost black, like Shado's blood on her lifeless face - and _yet_. "It's been some time." A part of him missed the kid. Almost as much as Shado.  
  
"You bastard," Oliver hissed, genuine anger and forced bravado, it was obvious that behind Oliver's own anger he was scared - his eyes kept flickering to the right side of his face. "Your quarrel is with me. Was Sara not enough, you had to go after Laurel, do _that_ to her?"  
  
"I made you a promise, Kid. And I included her in it."  
  
There was real confusion in his eyes though, behind the bow and arrow and ridiculous face paint and all that anger boiling over. "So why tell her?"  
  
"Yes, Slade. Why tell her?" Shado questioned, circling around them, back into his vision. Her fingers trailed over Oliver's shoulder, taught arms, though the kid gave no indication of feeling anything. She walked past and behind Slade, her hands sliding over his shoulders as she pressed up to his back. "Why ruin everything when we were so close to winning?"  
  
"Because I know there's something wrong with me. Wrong in my head. And I'm tired of it."  
  
"Then let me end it for you," Oliver threatened, moving in closer, the arrow aiming just a little more to the left - and it was hilarious, that he thought it might work when the first one didn't keep Slade down, that he thought he could just come in there and kill Slade as if they didn't have history.  
  
"Even if I let you, and even if it could put me down for good, you that much of a killer, Oliver?" his voice was taunting now, almost mocking. He couldn't help it, that fog making it hard to remember that he wanted out, wanted to be free of his ghosts.  
  
"I'll do what I have to." There was hesitation though, and Slade wondered if Oliver had his own ghosts to fend off. Did the kid remember only the ugly parts, the way Slade had for so long? Was he thinking of the better days and nights back in their personal Purgatory? Did seeing Slade make him think of Sara and Shado dying, or was he remembering  putting an arrow through Fryers to save Shado's life, when Slade sacrificed the plane to come back and save him?  
  
Slade Wilson had come to Starling City with a plan, and he was tossing it out the window.  
  
"I never quite understood the appeal from your photograph," he whispered, breaking eye contact for the first time since Oliver entered the apartment. "But seeing her up close, getting to know her..."  
  
"Don't. Slade, _don't_. Not after what you did."  
  
"I know, Kid." He stared at the ground, the space between them. He'd always kept some distance, even during their best moments. He wondered, briefly, if he hadn't been so damn stubborn and afraid and jealous, would things have been different. He hated what ifs. "Don't fuck it up this time." Slade stood, closing the distance despite Oliver backing away, backing up until his shoulder hit the doorway he'd come through, arms automatically lowering. "Otherwise I might come back." He kept the kid pinned there for just a moment - just long enough to lean in until his mouth was on Oliver's, to remember what he tasted and felt like, to remind himself that once upon a time he'd loved Oliver and Shado and maybe Lian Yu hadn't been such a wretched hell, because this hate felt more like hell than those days.  
  
And Oliver, _fuck_ , he gave in, kissing back though his whole body remained tense, his hands never letting go of the bow and arrow.  
  
Slade didn't press for more, didn't deserve it, not after everything he'd done to Oliver, to Laurel - couldn't stand the thought of it anyway with the bad taste of his acknowledgement of what he'd done still in his mouth. He stepped away, gave the kid room to breathe again. "See you around, Oliver."  
  
"I don't want to see you ever again." He meant it, but he was shaking, Slade's one good eye still able to see Oliver's eyes were glistening. He meant it, but it hurt. Everything Slade had done to him after Shado _hurt_.  
  
"Fair enough."

 

* * *

 

Slade Wilson left Starling City without a plan, without any direction at all.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song 'The Night of the Hunter' by 30 Seconds to Mars.   
> This...turned out completely different and barely, barely applicable to that prompt. Welp. I swear I'm going to stop torturing Laurel Lance soon, I just keep going to dark places with this fandom. Still on season two of my rewatch, and Slade/Laurel was something I was interested in trying for a while, but I also have too many Slade/Oliver and Slade/Shado and just Slade Wilson is a Messy Bi Asshole feelings. Hence this mammoth of a one-shot. Welp. Feedback is appreciated!


End file.
